


Just a Sleepy Morning

by Knitwritezombie (Missa_G)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: ASL, Coffee, Deaf Clint Barton, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 13:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8251160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missa_G/pseuds/Knitwritezombie
Summary: Just a peek into domestic Winterhawk.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was an attempt to get back into writing and to play with characterization a but. 
> 
> This takes place in some alternate universe where Ultron and Civil War didn't happen and SHIELD is still around and connected to the Avengers.

Bucky woke naturally, a comfortable warm weight curled against his chest and side. Clint had gotten in from a mission late the previous night, and they’d curled up together after Bucky had given him the usual once-over to confirm he wasn’t seriously injured as he claimed (he hadn’t been, beyond the usual strained muscles and tension headache from hyperfocusing so long). They hadn’t done anything more than cuddle until Clint drifted off with the help of a muscle relaxer, while Bucky had held him and read until he, too, had fallen asleep. 

Without disturbing Clint, Bucky reached over to toggle the switch on the nightstand that brought up a display of current information projected on the wall for when Clint wasn’t wearing his hearing aids. JARVIS projected the time, date, weather conditions, and news headlines, which Bucky skimmed out of habit of his own kind of threat assessment more than any real interest of what was going on in the world.

It was late enough that Clint wouldn’t be sleeping too much later, even with the pharmaceutical assistance from the night before. He was already starting to stir, his breathing even, but not as deep, his fingers twitching spasmodically. 

In one smooth motion least likely to wake Clint further, Bucky rolled out of bed and quickly slipped his pillow into Clint’s arms. He watched fondly as Clint hugged the pillow close and curled around it. Bucky slipped into the sweatpants he’d discarded for bed the night before, and padded barefoot through their suite to the kitchen and the coffee machine. 

“Good morning, sir,” JARVIS greeted as Bucky shuffled into the kitchen. “Captain Rogers asked me to inform you that there are pastries and fruit in the communal fridge, that he and Mr. Wilson will be out for the day, and that, if you are both up to it, that you and Agent Barton join them and Agent Romanov for dinner.”

“Is Sam cooking?” Bucky asked as he pulled the canister of coffee grounds from its place in the cupboard. 

“I believe that is the plan,” JARVIS replied.

“Then it’s a tentative yes,” Bucky responded. Steve had a lot of strengths, but cooking really wasn’t one of them. Sam, on the other hand, though having a limited repertoire, was a great cook. 

“I will relay the message, should they check in,” JARVIS answered, and went quiet. 

Bucky briefly lost himself in the familiar ritual of making coffee. Clint would drink just about anything, but Bucky couldn’t handle the sludge that Clint regular brewed up, so he’d taken over most of the coffee making duties. He’d had to provide his own mug, though, after discovering Clint had just one and was more likely to just drink straight from the carafe. 

While the coffee brewed, Bucky chugged a glass of milk. It had taken him awhile to adjust to having to eat regularly to maintain his metabolism; when Hydra had had him operational he’d been given energy bars and the like to sustain him, but then he’d been put right back under. Free of Hydra’s control, he had had to relearn to listen to the demands of his body. The easiest way he found to avoid problems later in the day was to start eating early and often. 

Bucky doctored his own coffee with cream and sugar, and filled the purple insulated travel mug he’d gotten for Clint (as stealthy as he could be when he was working, Clint was kind of a klutz). 

He knew better than to shake Clint awake; the first time he’d tried that, it had ended up with Bucky getting a black eye and Clint in a guilt spiral. It had only a little to do with Clint’s hearing. The larger issue was Clint’s own defences built up over years of not always being in safe spaces. Bucky understood that; his own PTSD (thanks, SHIELD pysch people) made it difficult for him to be startled awake, too. So, he slid onto Clint’s side of the bed, jostling it lightly on purpose, then holding his coffee near Clint’s face. 

Clint turned toward the scent and murmured something unintelligible. Taking that as a positive sign, Bucky shifted Clint’s coffee to the nightstand and curled his flesh hand around Clint’s exposed ankle, his foot having slipped free from the nest of blankets Clint twisted himself up in as he slept. Clint’s mumble turned into a soft groan as he turned over and cracked an eye open at Bucky. 

Bucky released his hold on Clint’s ankle to sign good morning. 

Clint scrunched up his face and worked to untangle his arms from the blanket nest. It didn’t seem to matter that Bucky ran warm thanks to Zola’s bastardized serum; Clint still bundled himself up in covers to sleep. _Coffee?_ He signed with a hopeful expression and groaned as he struggled to sit up.

Bucky slid his coffee next to Clint’s and offered him a hand. Clint, typically, ignored the help. _Still hurt_? He signed, frowning, reclaiming his mug.

Clint shrugged one shoulder and reached for his coffee, clutching the cup to his chest defensively while he breathed the steam escaping from the spout. He let go of the cup with one hand to pinch his thumb and forefinger together. Then _shower fix_ he signed, taking a long pull from his coffee. 

Bucky nodded his agreement. He was thinking he could also call Natalia for backup to get Clint to run through some basic yoga stretches, too. She could bully Clint into things like that in the name of training that Bucky had a hard time doing in the name of self care. In many ways, Clint was a self-destructive idiot, and Bucky had learned to be sneaky in making people take care of themselves back when Steve had been a pint sized kitten with the heart of a lion. 

Clint’s eyes had drifted closed while he inhaled his coffee, so Bucky tapped him on the ankle to get his attention. _Hungry?_

Clint shrugged in response, which didn’t really surprise Bucky any. The headache had probably been resolved by sleep, but any lingering pain combined with the muscle relaxers probably had dulled any desire Clint had to eat. _Smoothie_? Bucky suggested,carefully finger-spelling the word, recalling Steve’s message. 

Clint shrugged again but nodded, then handed Bucky his cup back with a plaintive expression. 

Bucky rolled his eyes but smiled, leaning in to kiss Clint softly. _Go shower_ , he signed. _I cook breakfast_.

Clint nodded again, wincing a little as he sat up a bit more and kissed Bucky back before swinging his legs slowly over the edge of the bed. He stood carefully and wobbled slightly before his muscles stretched back out; Bucky watched the play of the strong muscles of Clint’s bare back and shoulders as he moved, slowly stretching the kinks and sleep from his body. Bucky watched him make his way to the bathroom before he stood, grabbed a hoodie, and made his way up to the communal kitchen for the fruit and pastries on offer.

**Author's Note:**

> if you pop over to the tumblr post for this story, you can find images for the ASL used. 
> 
>  
> 
> <http://knitwritezombie.tumblr.com/post/151578940335/untitled-winterhawk-drabble-prompt-suggested-by>


End file.
